The Care and Keeping of Cardassians
by raemanzu and spica tea
Summary: What if Cardassians weren't so humanoid? This is a series of shorts where Garak is a less human, more reptilian Cardassian, based on spica-tea's redesign. Some of them will be rewrites of actual scenes in the show, some of them will have an original "plot". This is just for fun. Playfully shippy G/B fluff.
1. First Contact

A/N: This was written mostly in 2013. We are finally putting it up here in increments over a few weeks. Hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: First Contact<strong>

…

Doctor Julian Bashir sat at the replimat, at a table which had become more or less his favorite, as far as generic tables in unremarkable places go. He was reading a fascinating and important article from a medical journal about the effects of certain antidepressants on the telepathic ability of Betazoids. The subject matter was wonderful, but the dry academic writing style was putting him to sleep. He took another sip of Tarkalean tea, and suddenly saw a flash of green and grey out of the corner of his eye—the smooth inhuman gait of a long-limbed, scaled stranger. He set down his glass and didn't look up.

The owner of that gait circled behind his table, and at that point Bashir couldn't even pretend not to notice him. He sat up straight in his chair, craned his neck to look up, to his left, and a pale reptilian face smiled down at him. Bashir couldn't help but stare now. It was basically human in structure: the profile was roughly the same, the proportions and set of the eyes, nose, and mouth all similar enough. But the jaw, eyes, neck and forehead were ridged with scales, and the black hair which swept backward was really made up of very fine, long, thin feathers. There was something charismatic about that smile, something fascinating in seeing such a human expression on an inhuman face. But why was this tall Cardassian standing right by his chair, smiling down at him?

He suddenly realized he'd been gaping up at this stranger with the same expression as a child staring at some huge magnificent animal at the zoo. But the Cardassian didn't seem to mind—he looked just as delighted, one hand raised with pointed fingers spread in a graceful gesture.

"It's Doctor Bashir, isn't it?" the Cardassian's voice was smooth but tense, as if he were trying to contain himself. When he opened his mouth to speak, Bashir got a glimpse of dark lines just inside his mouth—lips so thin as to be invisible when he wasn't speaking. "Of course it is." The Cardassian's smile grew and he tilted his head slightly. "May I… introduce myself?"

"Uh…" Bashir tried to shake himself free of the trance that had come over him at being approached in such a friendly way by such a dangerous creature. "Uhhh, yes! Yes, of course."

"My name is Garak," said the creature, enunciating his name carefully so there could be no mistake. "A Cardassian by birth, obviously." He grinned almost sheepishly. Bashir took half a second to glance at the strange green-striped shirt and red-polka-dot vest that Garak was wearing. "The only one of us left on this station as a matter of fact, so…I _do_ appreciate making new friends, when_ever_ I can." Garak moved sideways around the table, smiling all the while, so Bashir wouldn't have to crane his neck so much. Bashir looked down at the pants, tucked into strange boots designed for long paw-like feet. Cardassians walked on their toes.

"Please, take a seat—oh," Bashir cut off at the little breath of a laugh from the Cardassian. He got a tiny glance at Garak's curled, scaly tail, flat along the bottom and rounded on the upper side, jutting stiffly at a downward angle from underneath the back of his suit. Of course, Garak couldn't sit down in a human chair with an anatomy like that. "Sorry, I didn't realize—"

Garak waved it off. "No need to apologize, as long as you don't mind me standing."

"No, no, not at all."

"There used to be some suitable chairs here, but most of them have been replaced in the past year. You_ are_ new to this station, I believe?" Garak's voice took on a particular high, thin lilt, as if he was either greatly amused or greatly offended. Bashir wondered nervously how to reply when he didn't know how to read Cardassian body language or tone of voice. He decided the safest route was to be as polite and straightforward as possible.

"I-I am, yes." Bashir smiled back with a faint exhalation of wonder. This had to be the Cardassian spy he'd heard about. Garak crouched a little so he wouldn't tower over the table so much. Absent-mindedly, Bashir tried to brush aside the threadlike blades of grass which were tucked into a vase on the table, obstructing his view of the way Garak was blinking at him pleasantly, birdlike. The little bits of floral arrangement went right back to where they were before. Bashir caught himself and stammered on. "Though… though I understand you've been here quite a while."

"Ah! You know of me then!" Garak looked surprised and delighted, his head jutting forward a little on its long neck.

"Uh, would you care for some of this Tarkalean tea? It's very good." Bashir quickly backpedaled—maybe repeating public opinion about the Cardassian wasn't the best thing for their newly budding acquaintanceship.

Garak's smile faded into something less manic and more contemplative. His voice was still all silk and charisma though. "What a _thoughtful _young man. How nice that we've met!"

Bashir lifted a hand to ask someone to order a second mug from the replicator for him, but hesitated. The few people who weren't refusing to look his way were giving Garak dirty looks. He could go get it himself, but somehow he was afraid to move. Garak's eyes were on him and this was an opportunity—there must be some reason the Cardassian had approached him. Better to find out what it was right away.

"You know," Bashir said nervously, trying to keep a normal, friendly tone, but he was oddly breathless. "Some people say that… you remained on DS9 as the eyes and… ears of your fellow Cardassians."

A shocked look came over Garak's face and he put one scaly hand on the table, leaning toward the Doctor. "You don't say!" he whispered. Then the shock was replaced by cautious, amused curiosity, his head tilting in a way which ruffled his feathery hair and reminded Bashir forcefully of a chicken trying to get a better look at a tasty grub. "Doctor… you're not… intimating… that I'm some sort of _spy_, are you?"

Bashir felt himself gaping again. Garak's manner was invasive, threatening, but so mesmerizing that he couldn't help but sit helpless in his seat. His mouth worked for a moment before he managed to say "I wouldn't know." He tacked a quick "sir" onto the end, just in case. He felt like a mouse hypnotized by a swaying cobra.

"Ah," Garak said softly. "An open mind. The _essence_ of intellect." For a moment Bashir had the uncanny feeling that Garak was secretly laughing at him. He had that sort of look in his eyes, somehow. Garak's pink tongue flicked out to wet his very thin, dark lips, so quickly that Bashir almost didn't see it. "As you may also know, I have a clothing shop nearby, so if you should require _any _apparel—or simply wish, _as I do_, for a bit of enjoyable company now and then…I'm at your disposal." Throughout this sentence Garak's smile flickered at the edges of his mouth, and there was a strangely intense undertone.

Bashir felt distinctly that he was in way over his head. What did this dinosaur want from him? Why these strange mannerisms which in a human would be either intimidating or seductive? They obviously meant something else in this case. The Cardassian seemed to be luring him toward something, but what?

"You're… very kind, Mister Garak," Bashir said unevenly.

"Oh," Garak protested in a low, soft voice. "It's just Garak. Plain and simple…."

"Garak," Bashir said it with him, and nodded to show he'd understood.

"Now," said Garak, straightening to his full height and stepping sideways so that once again he loomed over Bashir. "Good day to you, Doctor." Bashir nodded and went for a sip of tea, waiting for the Cardassian to circle back around past his chair on the way out. But the gentle footsteps stopped right behind him, and suddenly those scaly, pointed fingers were resting lightly on his shoulders. Bashir jumped, his entire body seizing up.

Garak didn't seem to notice, his tone as friendly and enigmatic as before. "I'm so glad to have made such an… _interesting_ new friend today."

Bashir stared down at the long hand on his right shoulder, at an utter loss for words. Fortunately, Garak chose that moment to release him and walk away, weaving carefully between the tables so as not to disturb anything with his tail. Some of the replimat patrons glared at his back anyway. Bashir gaped after him, unable to tear his eyes from the Cardassian's long strides. Picking up his feet and setting them down with the same predatory grace as a cat, Garak moved out of sight, but not before glancing back at Bashir. He had to turn his body a bit to do it—on the whole, Cardassians didn't seem to be too flexible. With one last smile, Garak walked out of sight, the ridges above his eyes casting deep shadows onto them so that Bashir couldn't read them at all.

Bashir got up from the table, jittery with excitement and fear, and rushed off to find the Captain.

…


	2. Flirty Flirt Come Buy A Shirt

**Chapter 2: Flirty Flirt Come Buy A Shirt**

…

It was an early morning in the infirmary. Bashir was eager to get to work after having to abandon everything the day before, when the entire station (including himself) had been stricken with a specially designed viral form of aphasia. The frustration at not being able to communicate had been nearly unbearable! But luckily the cure had been found and quickly administered to everyone on the station.

Bashir had only just walked in when a familiar voice came from behind him.

"Ah, good morning, Doctor! I see you _do_ know how to be punctual when it suits you. But then, I'm not sure being three hours early is much better than being two minutes late."

Bashir turned to see Garak hovering in the doorway to the infirmary, poised upright and perfectly balanced on his toes—indeed, for him to set his heels on the ground would have looked ridiculous, given the anatomy of his legs. Thankfully, he wasn't wearing that dreadful polka-dot thing he'd had on the first day they'd met. In fact, today's red suit looked quite dashing, and had two tails which hung on either side of Garak's actual tail.

"Good morning, Garak," Bashir said, mirroring Garak's smile. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, I'm not here for medical treatment if that's what you're suggesting," Garak said, stepping lithely toward him until they were about a foot apart. He was as oblivious to Bashir's bubble of personal space as he'd been the first day they met. "Unless, of course, you'd like to learn more about Cardassian physiology." Garak's grin widened, his chin tilted up a smidge so that Bashir could see beneath the ridges on his face to where his eyes glinted mischievously.

Bashir found himself staring at the black inner part of Garak's lips as he spoke, trying not to read too much in to _that_ sentence. They were nicely distracting.

"You seem like such a naturally inquisitive man," Garak went on. "So do feel free to… inquire."

"Uh," Bashir said, fidgeting with his datapad. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Garak. Now what _can_ I do for you?"

Garak's insinuating smile didn't waver. "Oh, I just happened to be taking an early morning stroll and noticed that you were at your shift a bit earlier than usual. You barely got a chance to look at my merchandise the other night." Garak's tone implied this was a real shame. "I imagine the wardrobe of a Starfleet officer tends to be quite limited, but… I think you'll find that I can accommodate a _wide_ range of personal tastes." And here Garak dipped his head down toward Bashir with a significant raising of his scaly eyebrows. No personal space here.

There it was again. That intense undertone… the one, Bashir was quickly learning, that meant that Garak was trying to say more than what he said. And that sly smile. Why did Cardassians have to be so… so….

Shifty? said one part of his mind. Well, he had to admit Garak still scared him a bit, but he knew now that as Cardassians went, Garak wasn't so bad. He'd helped them avert a small disaster, after all. He probably wouldn't do anything to harm the station too badly, in any case, if he really was an exile with nowhere else to go.

"What do you say, Doctor? _You're_ not due at your shift for another two hours at least, and_ I_ can't rest until I see how much your natural beauty might be enhanced by my creations."

Bashir stared and something finally clicked into place. It wasn't just his imagination. Was Garak actually flirting with him now? No, no, he told himself desperately. This was probably how Garak acted with all his customers. But that comment about tastes. And Cardassian physiology… no, he was probably just doing the same thing he had been before. His tone of voice was nearly identical to the "do I make myself clear, Doctor," he'd used when trying to arrange for Bashir to overhear what the Klingons were saying. Maybe another mystery needed to be solved.

"I'm not uh… sure I would have any use for a suit," said Bashir cautiously, testing.

"Oh, but you must have _some_ time set aside for recreation," Garak prompted playfully, edging even closer—Bashir turned sideways but held his ground. "Indulge me, Doctor. Or at the very least, indulge yourself. I know with all your fantasies, you must wonder what treacherous Cardassian secrets are hiding in the darkest corners of my shop, waiting to be discovered by you." Garak gestured in the general direction of his shop with one scaly hand. "Well… here's your chance to find out."

"You insisted you're not actually a spy," Bashir said.

"So I did," Garak murmured, leaning close and laughing softly by his ear—the breath tickled and smelled faintly of Rokassa juice. "But my dear Doctor, we both know you're still suspicious of me."

A weird shiver went up Bashir's neck and he pulled away from Garak, clearing his throat and glancing around the infirmary—a few nurses hastily began fiddling with tricorders or pacing across the room purposefully, caught in the act of watching Garak and Bashir's little exchange.

"Well, I… suppose I can take a quick look," Bashir said quietly, raising his eyebrows in what he hoped was a meaningful way. "If it's _really_ that important to you."

"Oh, but it is important. This is going to be the high point of my day." Garak put an arm around Bashir's shoulders and led him toward his shop. Their strides were mismatched, of course, due to the difference in their legs, but somehow with Bashir walking briskly and Garak taking careful strides, they managed not to trip each other up. Bashir was glad so few people were out and about at this hour—as it was, he was drawing a few stares. But a faint grin was growing on his face. The prospect of solving another mystery thrilled him.

Then they were at the shop, and Bashir looked around at all the outfits hanging on display. Most of them were, frankly, a bit hideous. There was some kind of ski suit that looked like it was made of pink plastic sheeting, and a brown dress that had strange extra pockets of fabric bulging out the sides. But to be fair, the suit Garak had thrust at him the other day had been decent enough, and over there on the opposite wall was a dress definitely designed for a dabo girl….

"Now, let me think," Garak said thoughtfully, padding in a circle around Bashir with an examining eye. "Can I interest you in some swimwear, perhaps? I've heard you like to make good use of the exercise programs in Quark's holosuites. I modified a few designs from this catalogue…." Garak went to his desk and neatly folded himself up onto the Cardassian chair that waited for him. Like the others that had been removed before Bashir came on the station, Garak's chair was specially designed so that his weight rested on his knees, with the length of his heels pressed for balance against a lower bar. Somehow, Garak managed to look extremely comfortable in this position as he pulled up files on his datapad.

"That won't be necessary, Garak," Bashir said, still staring around, waiting for some clue as to why he was here. "I've already got a very comfortable pair of swimming trunks."

"Are you sure I can't interest you in some formal wear?" Garak asked, looking up with a little smirk. "I promise to present you with much more ravishing options this time. I admit, that suit was rather drab."

Ravishing. Bashir blinked. "No, that's alright." He was beginning to think that maybe this visit wasn't about secrets or plots at all.

"Perhaps some sleepwear, then," Garak hopped up from his chair with barely a sound and pulled a long, deep green robe off the wall, forcing it into Bashir's hands. "I think you'll find it's quite soft, even for… smooth, human skin."

Busy examining the robe, Bashir felt it before he saw it—Garak's hand on his cheek, stroking gently. First with the soft palm… then the back of his hand, and Bashir marveled at the difference in texture as the scales on Garak's knuckles brushed his skin ever so slightly.

"Garak," he said with forced calm. "What are you doing."

Garak's eyes were half-closed, that little smile still in place. He looked at his knuckles as if they'd acted of their own accord. "Isn't it fascinating, Doctor?"

Bashir waited for him to explain, feeling a resurgence of the same overwhelmed feeling he'd experienced on their first meeting. A Cardassian spy under cover as a tailor is trying to seduce me, he thought. He stared at Garak's hand, dazed.

"Well?" Garak prompted. "Do you like the texture?" His eyes flicked down at the robe Bashir was still holding. Bashir's head jerked up and down several times, looking between the robe and Garak's expectant face.

"I… it is very soft, you're right," Bashir fumbled, trying to get a grip on himself. "But… we're not really here for you to sell me clothes, are we?"

Garak blinked several times in rapid succession, and his smile grew warmer. "Are we indeed? What precisely are you proposing we _are_ here for?" He tilted his head.

"Oh," Bashir said, carefully casual, "I'm not sure. You obviously want _something_ from me, but I'm not sure it's payment in exchange for a pair of pants."

"Perhaps I simply enjoy working on people's pants," Garak said all too innocently. "The work is it's own reward. Trying to unravel what makes another species beautiful is perhaps the most enjoyable part of what I do." His voice went low and soft. "I'm sure, considering _your_ profession, you must know some of what I mean." Garak laid a hand on Bashir's shoulder, and gripped it briefly, unevenly, almost like a half-second massage.

Bashir looked warily at Garak, speechless. To his dismay, his mind was running through at least a dozen very important questions regarding Cardassian compatibility with humans on a physical level, and it dismayed him even further to realize that he wanted answers to some of those questions—from a purely scientific perspective, of course. But Garak, apparently, wanted something more than that, and Bashir had never exactly been in this position before… finding the best way to say no was surprisingly difficult.

"I… uh…." Bashir stalled.

Garak suddenly snapped out of his expectant look and began adjusting the zipper on the jacket of Bashir's uniform. "Oh Doctor, I've been meaning to tell you for days now, but you really should stop trying to create a collar where there is none. I know it's tempting to try and make the most of your limited repertoire, but I'm afraid even leaving it fully zipped and flat is better than letting the corners flip up like that. You see, this is why I insist—I want to make you something you can wear off-duty that will fulfill your need for variety." He smoothed the front of Bashir's uniform, then tweaked the grey turtleneck beneath, his fingers brushing Bashir's neck briefly. Bashir caught his hands and pushed them back toward Garak.

"Listen, Garak, I uh…" Bashir cleared his throat. "I appreciate your advice, I really do."

Garak let his hands hover in front of his chest for a moment before letting them rest at his sides, a curiously open and anticipating expression on his face.

"I just think… I need some time to think about what I want from you—from your shop, I mean, of course." Bashir held up his hands, cringing inwardly.

"Of course," Garak hummed, a grin curling his mouth gently. "Take your time. I'm certainly not going anywhere. At least… not that I've heard."

"Right… well, thanks again. Let me know if you need my help with anything."

"Anything, Doctor?" Garak asked slyly.

"Within reason," Bashir corrected, grinning nervously. "Here, I'd better give this back to you." He held out the robe.

Garak took it back, kneading it between his fingers thoughtfully. "A Cardassian's belly is as soft as a human's face, you know. Softer, actually, in some cases, considering we don't grow hair. Isn't it odd… how judging another by merely what is visible can turn out to be so… inaccurate?" Garak narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

Now he's talking to me about how soft his belly is, Bashir thought. What next? And again, the worst part was, Bashir couldn't deny he was curious. He wanted to ask about how Cardassians compensated for their weak spot, or how well Garak could feel various textures through his scales.

But he shouldn't dig himself in deeper. This was already getting too strange, and both those questions could easily be turned in a direction he wasn't sure he wanted.

"It's not that odd," Bashir said, finally coming back to Garak's probably-rhetorical question. "Sight is only one of the senses after all, and most people keep a good deal of themselves hidden." Oh, no. Somehow he'd thought that comment would be innocent enough but Garak was nearly laughing and Bashir felt his face begin to get a little hot—out of embarrassment, of course.

"Ah, Doctor, I do enjoy our conversations," Garak sighed happily, hanging the robe back up on its display. "I can see you'd like to leave now. Well, don't let me keep you waiting—after all, you've still got more than an hour before you're actually required in the infirmary."

Bashir stood there awkwardly, looking at the back of Garak's neck, with its spotty scales. He hoped he hadn't somehow hurt the Cardassian's feelings, or failed some test of observational skill, but he could think of no way of apologizing without drawing himself even deeper into this awkward situation. He either had to stay and play it out—perhaps to an end he wasn't at all prepared for—or leave.

"I'll see you at lunch?" Bashir asked.

"The day after tomorrow, thirteen hundred hours," Garak said cheerfully, finally turning away from the wall. "I wouldn't miss it."


End file.
